Taking a New Name
by yoo-hoo luver.wlegs
Summary: On the day of her wedding, a young and scared Helen recieves comfort from an unlikely source and both she and Strawberry recieve a glimpse of the grand future they are to be parts of.


Disclaimer: I don't own Helen and Frank

**Disclaimer: I don't own Helen and Frank. Wish I did though, they are amazingly underdeveloped characters…**

**A/N: I'm not good at writing accents. But I tried my darndest to get some semblance of a cockney accent. I apologize if I'm off the mark. **

With my legs propped up against the obliging wall and my body draped across my dearest sister's leg, I turned the tattered page of one of my favorite pennynovels. Dressed in naught but my skivvies and my corset, I flicked my brown hair over my shoulder to add to the dramatic pause. Ruth, who was the younger, gave an anxious giggle. She was eager to hear the conclusion of the story.

"Ge' on wih' it then!" my twelve year old sister commanded with a giggle.

"She began to recover, to fidget about in 'er chair, get up, sit down again, wonder, then bless 'erself. 'Good gracious! Lord bless me! Only think! Dear me! Mr. Darcy! 'oo would 'ave thought it! And is it really true? Oh! My sweetest Lizzy! 'ow rich and how great you'll be! What pin money, what jewels, what carriages you will have! Jane is nothing to it-nothing at all. I am so pleased-so 'appy. Such a charming man-so 'andsome! So tall! Oh, my dear Lizzy! Pray apologize for my 'aving disliked 'im so much before. I 'ope 'e will overlook it. Dear, dear Lizzy. A 'ouse in town! Everything that is charming! Three daughters married! Ten thousand a year!...'"

I paused from my oration and thought of my upcoming situation. In just a few short hours, I was to leave all remnants of childhood behind and cease being Helen Baker. By the end of the day I would hold my Frank's name. Ruth seemed to be on the same mindset as I was for she rested her head on my shoulder. "Tha' don' sound like Frankie at all." She observed.

"Indeed, not like 'im at all." I replied, thinking with a grin of my cabby. He was thirty-two and I was but fifteen. But his smile and quirks had taken root in my heart and now I was helplessly in love with a humble cabby. Our engagement was a quick one- as quick as it could be and still keep my honor intact. Engagements of years and years were fine for the high-brows but not for us. There was a collective relief that the second eldest of us girls was settling down. It meant one less mouth to feed. But nevertheless I was greatly anticipating the freedom of a woman married. All of my fifteen years the secret society of matrons seemed so far above my reach but soon, I would become one of them.

My sister and I sat in silence for a few moments, relishing the other's company in our last moments as children together. Ruth did get on my nerves quite a bit when she was young but as she grew older, I began to like her. Mumma suspected that it was because I simply have no patience and tenderness towards children.

We sat in silence for several moments until I could hear my mother ascending the rickety stairs to my small room. As she stepped in the room with her Sunday best on, she took in the scene of two of her daughters lounging about and her gray eyes grew twice her size. " 'elen Elise Baker! We are due at the ruddy church in 'alf an 'our! An' you ain't even dressed." I jumped off of my bed and my sister as if they were on fire. And Ruth demurely stood up next to me, her strawberry blonde head hung in shame. She had nothing to be ashamed about; I thought to myself dryly, she is all dressed and ready. One would think it was Ruth and not I marrying today.

Mumma ushered me to the small square mirror I had hung on my wall. It was almost too small and filthy for function yet it was all I had to make sure my smart new hat with cherries was straight. Mumma had a commanding presence and after five daughters, could have passed off as a naval captain barking orders to her crew. "Ruth," Mumma began, "Be a dear an' 'and me Nellie's dress. Then stand outside to see when Willie arrives wit' Strawberry an' the cab."

Ruth did so and scampered off to see when one of Frank's cabby mates would come around with Frank's own hansom to drive me to the church. With the door shut as much as it could, my mother began to dress me in my wedding dress, a hand-me-down gray flannel frock with leg-o-mutton sleeves that my employer's daughter no longer fit in and gave to me as a wedding gift.

My mother twitched nervously for the first time in her life and began telling me about the duties of a wife. She spoke of the wedding night and how I should "sit back and think of England" and how as Frank's wife, I must think of England when ever Frank wanted to think of England. She informed me that it might hurt a bit at first and that I might even bleed the first time Frank and I think of England together. But after that it was quite enjoyable.

As Mumma spoke, I furrowed my brow in confusion. I wondered why wives _had_ to think of England and more importantly, why did we have to think about our country with our husbands? Surely we could think about England by ourselves. I picked up a pin and began arranging my limp mousey brown hair in an attractive chignon. Curiosity began to take me as to why my mother said it would hurt. Conversations hardly did any harm.

"Now 'elen Elise, do you understand what I'm sayin'?" Mumma wondered gently helping me pin my smart cherry hat in place. I nodded in reply and hoped God would forgive me for lying. My mother kissed my cheek and beamed with pride. We spent several moments in contented silence, mother and daughter for the last time under the same roof. All my life she had guided me and molded me for marriage with a gentile and firm hand and now was the time I was to spread my wings and show the world that Mumma had done a decent job preparing me. " Now Nellie," Mumma began, "it is a wife's duty to follow 'er 'usband where' ere 'e goes. You must be 'is pillar, luv, an' support 'im when' ere 'e's down. It is our duty as English women. We are the support beams of our country. Widdout us, England would plumb crumble in on itself." She paused and turning me to face her, kissed my forehead. "I'm so proud-a ya, Nellie."

Tears swelled in my eyes and I threw my arms around my mother with such force I feared both of us would fall down. In a brief moment, I did not want to leave my mother's embrace. I did not want to leave the security of our little home to go and face the unknown with a man who had no more to his name than I did. I wanted to be a little child again, back in the country before destitution brought us to town looking for work. I wanted to skip in the fields barefoot with my mother and my dear, late, older sister Charlotte. There was nothing dearer in the world at the moment than the longing of the old cottage's kitchen and the potato-people Charlotte used to make for me. I never did well with change and my most fervent wish was to be five years younger!

Mumma's hand gently stroked my hair and she rocked me to and fro, tears spilling down her own cheeks. She seemed as though she wanted to say something to comfort me as panicked sobs wracked my body. I was terrified! And I couldn't do this. I simply couldn't be responsible for a house and a husband. How would I perform wifely duties that I had no clue how to do? And what about children?! A cat would be a better mother than I! Mumma hushed me and was about to speak when Ruth's voice from downstairs cried that Willie was here to pick me up.

"This is it, then." Mumma observed and smiled to cheer me up while hiding her own tears. "Scary, init?" She stroked my cheek and pulled a stray curl behind my ear. "But what good would an adventure be if what dwells beyond the 'orizon was always in sight? Go' somethin' old?" I nodded and hiccuped, indicating to my hat pin. It was Mumma's and Gandmumma's before mine. "And somethin' new is the 'at…something borrowed is the dress-'ow smart you look, darlin'. You 'ave forget-me-nots for your bouquet and…do you have that sixpence I gave you?"

I nodded, wiping the tears from my wide eyes with the back of my hand. As my mother announced that it was time then, my heart lept in my chest as if it wanted to sprint down the street away from the church. My head said that I had nothing to worry about for I indeed did love Frank, but my heart wanted to avoid the uncertainty of the future. Mumma picked up my small bouquet and as I walked out, I slowly turned to take one last look at the room, memorizing everything from the plaster peeling walls to the crooked bed and-of course- my tiny mirror. I had no clue what accommodations would await me in Frank's house yet I knew I would have to sleep in the same bed with my new husband. And I was nervous for I always ripped the covers from the bed and tangled myself in them. I took one last look and then turned and descended the stairs.

Inside the carriage, my mother and Ruth were waiting for me. Papa had left for the church early with my two youngest sisters about an hour and a half ago. Pulling the carriage was Frank's beauty of a horse, Strawberry. The horse had always had pleasant disposition and for the occasion was decked out in white carnations (a symbol of fertility) and it seemed that he was none to happy of having been looking so girly. I walked out around the carriage and gave Frank's friend, Willie, a fond hello. He tipped his hat to me on the box as I ran my gloved hand down Strawberry's nose.

"Thank ya kindly, 'Berry for takin' me and me family to the church today." I whispered before Mumma yelled for me to get in the carriage. I offered Strawberry a well earned sugar cube and whispered to the horse that the flowers would not be permanent fixtures. Then, flashing Willie another smile, hopped into the carriage with my mother and Ruth.

"You do look quite smart in that getup, Nelly." Ruth told me as the carriage lurched forward. I withheld a grateful smile for she was my sister and Ruth always had the knack of lacing a teasing jibe in with her complements. "Don' trip on the dip in the chapel's floor, 'tis bad luck."

"Indeed?" My eyebrows reached my hairline as I answered with mock anger and pursed lips.

Ruth tipped her delicate little nose in the air and informed me that I had the grace of Bulgarian dockworker. Beside her, Mumma gave Ruth a warning glance. 'Twas a glance that all the mothers in England mastered and one I had no choice but to master now. My heart beat faster in my bosom as I ungraciously stuck my tongue out at my sister.

I decided to put the child in her place. "An' you 'ave the nerve of a-"

Mumma cut me off with a warning tone. " Ruth, 'tis unkind to point out a gurl's faults-an' on 'elen's weddin' day no less!" Mumma had tried fruitlessly to teach me grace and poise since I had gotten a job as a maid in a well to do merchant's family home. She then turned to me and continued her scolding, "An' 'elen! 'ere you are almost at the altar an' you bickerin' with your sister? Coo! I ain' neve' 'eard of such a thing! 'Tis a 'appy day it is, what with you getting' marri-"

Mumma paused as the carriage paused with a lurch. Willie's curses were heard from the outside as well as the high whinnying of the horse. Mumma muttered 'What on earth?' as the hullabaloo outside seemed to get louder. We could hear Strawberry rearing up on his flanks and could feel the rattle of the carriage when the horse's hooves hit the cobblestone.

My curiosity got the better of me and I stuck my neck out to see what all the fuss was about. My mother beckoned me back inside with hurried tones but I was determined to find out what the delay was by myself. Craning my neck, I could see nothing around the bustle of the London street and so-much to my mother and sister's protests; I opened the door and strode to the front of the hansom.

At first glance it had appeared that something had spooked the horse, though what I could hardly guess. Strawberry was never a horse to spook in the loud London streets. As I rounded I noticed the cause of the uproar: a small bent man stood in the middle of the street, right in front of our hansom.

I could only guess that he came from India for his cracked skin reminded me of the color and even the texture of old leather. He was dressed in rags, barely holding back the chill of the wind and his scraggily gray hair hung about his face, looking as if it hadn't been washed in his entire life. From the box, Willie was shouting and swearing at the beggar to move along and right quickly if he pleased.

I mused on what was the man was doing in the middle of the road and how that could upset my future husband's unshakable horse. Yet as I got closer, I noticed the manner of how Strawberry was rearing and whinnying. Why, it almost sounded as if the good old boy was happy to see this stranger! Strawberry's head bobbed up and down towards the old man who stood like a tree in our path. I confess I had to suppress a giggle as Frank's stallion tried to buck like a little colt.

When I reached the box, I reached out and set my hand on the horse's flank to let him know I was there and slowly made my way to his head. The Indian's golden eyes locked on me in an unwavering, all knowing glance. Strangely, I did not feel scared to have such a strange man stare at me so nor did I feel the blood rush to my cheeks in a blush. No, the closer I got to Strawberry's nose and the Indian, the higher my heart soared and the brighter my future with Frank was looking.

His withered brown hand reached up to stroke the horse's nose and he spoke to Strawberry in a deep voice that reminded me of the sounds I heard coming from the lion's pit when I passed the zoo entrance. It was rich and deep and reminded me of golden honey pouring over porridge for it slowly over took every inch of me until I felt like I could burst out in peals of overjoyed laughter. "Soon, Fledge." He told Strawberry. "You will come to know me soon." The horse fell silent under his touch and lightly, Strawberry's nose nudged the Indian's as if indicating that he understood-as odd as that sounded.

Then the strange beggar's eyes were on me. The calls of my mother, the curious chatter of Ruth, the curses of Willie and the roar of the carts all faded away so all I could see was the beggar from India. His eyes were kind and welcoming, leaving me void of earthly fears and doubts. At length, one hand left the snout of Strawberry and reaching for me, he took my hand. Some object was placed in my hand and in an instant the world dropped away from me. I found myself standing in a clearing with all sorts of animals about me. I was not in my best clothes-no, quite to my dismay I was in one of my everyday dresses, the suds of soap still on my hands. Frank stood beside me, looking stoic and serious as ever. And a lion-a gorgeous lion stood before us and spoke to us. I could not discern what he said much to my dismay. All present bowed to us, Frank gave me an encouraging wink and as soon as I left the crowded London streets I had returned.

"Helen Baker," The beggar said so quietly to me that his hot breath tickled the small hairs in my ear, "You shall be called 'Lovely', for that is what you are. They will sing your name next to the words 'Polaris', for you shall be a beacon to those lost in the land. Those who know you best call you 'willful' and quite fondly 'Nellie' but all, acquaintance or not shall refer to you as 'The Snowdrop of the North' for as when the angel came to comfort Eve after the fall of Eden, he breathed on a snowflake. And as it hit the ground a tiny flower of hope and life took root, making the other fauna take root. You shall breathe life and hope to a new world and they will commend you for it. They will sing of Frank as Wonderful, but they will sing of you as an unfaltering citadel of strength."

His words punctured their way through me and I found I was hanging to his words. How I would truly wish to be called all those things, to ascend higher than just a house maid. "Sir, what must I do to achieve this future you speak of?"

He paused and kissing my forehead, opened my hand to reveal three small apple blossoms sitting against the white of my glove. Whilst cleaning the room of my employer's eldest daughter, I had glimpsed a book about the meanings of flowers and though I knew that apple blossoms said that there is hope for better things, just why this stranger who knew so much about me gave me such a flower eluded me.

"Though, you will represent will, love, grace, hope and strength, first you must cease to be Helen Baker and become wholly and fully Helen Gilliam."

At the mention of my name conjoined with Frank's, my heart caught in my throat. 'I can not do this', I thought, feeling as though a tight band was squeezing my lungs together. How could I take this step when I was but fifteen! "I can't…" I choked out on a short breath. From the carriage I could hear Mumma's fearful calls to me. The beggar's withered old hand cupped my cheek softly and tucked the blossoms into my hair. His golden orbs some how steadied me as my breathing eased and sense began to fill where fear had previously presided. All fear had fled me and I was ready to take the name of my love and all the other names the beggar said would come with the surname Gilliam.

I dug into my boot and placed the sixpence I was given for luck into his cracked palm and kissed his cheeck in thanks. I was reluctant to leave the comforting sureness of the peculiar man yet my mother's cries had fallen on deaf ears for so long that she decided to get out of the hansom and retrieve me herself. Her hand enclosed around my arm and Mumma began to pull me away, muttering about how foolish it was for the poor to give to the poor. I turned my head to give the Indian a smile goodbye yet as I looked back, I saw naught of him. My eyes darted about the street in hopes to see where such a frail old man could have gone so quickly. Yet deep in my heart, I knew that that was not to be the last time I saw him.

End

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed this fic tell me what you think. It is ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN that a multichap fic of Helen and Frank will be written once ALBE is about finished. In fact, there is about a chap or two floating around in my hard drive. **


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